Good Luck, Sammy
by Lover of Angelus
Summary: Sam never said goodbye, not because it was too painful, but because a part of him knew that he wouldn't be gone that long. WINCEST.


**Title**: Good Luck, Sammy

**Disclaimer**: Me no own, You no sue.

**Warning**: Wincest, language

-z-

"I did it for us!" Sam shouted.

They were arguing again, about the same old thing as the night before and the night before that and the night before that. This is what serious hunts did to them, caused stress and anger and tension that lead to fighting. The brothers prowled around their motel room, glaring daggers at the other, both shaking with anger.

"You couldn't have done it for _us_, because _I _didn't want it," Dean yelled back, pointing an accusing finger at his younger brother. "I waited for you for two years! Two fucking _years_, Sam! I waited for a letter, a telephone call, a voice mail. Shit, even a carrier pigeon woulda worked and _I fucking hate birds_!"

The younger man scoffed, shook his head and threw his hands in the air as he turned from his brother, walking toward the bathroom.

"Stop doing that!" Dean roared with such ferocity that Sam stopped and turned, looking at his brother.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Stop turning your back on me!" Dean cried as he rushed toward the younger man and, grabbing his shoulders, shook him violently. "Why can't you understand?! The only reason that I didn't come after you and drag you away from all that college shit was because of dad! That bastard had to hold me down and punch me before I got the message!" Dean released Sam, pushing him away and turning around. Not watching as Sam fell to the floor, back against the wall that he had collided with.

"What message was that?" Sam asked when silence had become intolerable.

Dean turned back to Sam, his darkened hazel eyes made Sam's chest tighten. A small, sadistic smirk played on his elder brother's lips as he answered. "You were gone, and that nothing I said or did would convince you to come back; you abandoned us."

The younger man's jaw went slack and his eyes widened. "Is that what you think I did?" he barely managed to choke out. "Dad was the one that said that if I left not to come back."

"Hey, all I know is that I was worrying what had happened to the person that I had once known. All I knew was that my only little brother was off where I couldn't protect him," Dean locked eyes with Sam, his voice raised slightly. "He was off at a place where I couldn't protect him from things that could kill him. And the worst part about it all," Sam broke the eye contact, "was knowing that my own fucking brother had _abandoned _me," he spat the word like a curse.

Dean turned before Sam could retort and padded softly into the bathroom, shutting the door with a soft click.

Sam wanted to go after him. He wanted to be the one to shake his brother and yell and scream and shout his defense. But he knew, deep down, he knew that Dean was right. Sam hadn't even said goodbye to Dean, he had just fought with Dad and then went right on his way, jumping on the first bus he could.

Sam never said goodbye - not because it was too painful - but because a part of him knew that he wouldn't be gone that long.

Four years of college and each month on the first, Dean would call his cell and leave a voice message, a long one describing recent conquests and hunts and just wishing him well. And Sam would save them and commit them to memory and just listen to them over and over, sometimes falling asleep with a pillow hugged against his chest and his brother's voice reverberating through his skull and penetrating his dreams.

It was only after two years of never getting any response did Dean finally stop calling, stop leaving his messages. And Sam cried even harder because he would think that his brother was dead but then he would read about how the mass bear attacks suddenly stopped and he would know that Dean was still okay.

-z-

When Dean came out of the bathroom, he was startled to suddenly have his brother's old cell shoved in front of his face.

"What the fuck, Sam?" he demanded. He was about to question further when suddenly his own voice began to emanate from the device.

_"Hey, Sam, it's Dean. Look, we both know that Dad never means the shit he says so when you've cooled off, we'll go get a pizza or something, 'kay?"_

Dean felt as if he had just been punched in the stomach...

_"Sam, me again. Where the hell are you, dude? Guess you were serious this time, huh? Great job telling me, bro, really. -Silence-. Good luck, Sammy."_

...and the tears he hadn't shed in years threatened to spill over.

_"Sam, how's school going? Damn, bro, you shoulda seen this chick I hooked up with, smokin'. All legs, kinda bitchy though, glad we're constantly on the move, she expected a call yesterday. Oops. Dad's kinda busted up, he thought _it_ was gone, too bad for him it was more persistent then we both thought. I, however, still had the pages open was able to finish the spell thing. Wish you were here; you're Latin's better'n mine. We both know it. Good luck, Sammy."_

Dean wiped at his eyes harshly. His stomach doing these weird little flip-flops that he knew couldn't be good.

_"Are we ever gonna see each other again, Sammy? I had a close call with a Lady in White today, I feel like I could die. -Sigh-. Would it kill you to just tell me that you're okay? I- Never mind. Behave yourself and fuck all the hotties you can, 'kay? Good luck, Sammy."_

Dean reached up and knocked the phone to the floor, and though he could still hear the messages being played, he ignored them as he threw Sam against the wall and pressed his lips tightly against those of his baby brother.

-z-


End file.
